


The Steed Family

by cerame



Series: Heist AU [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crime, Dehumanization, Family, Fighting Rings, Gangs, Gen, Growing Up, Guns, Heist AU, Kidnapping, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Mentions of Death, coming home, mentions of wounds, most of the bad stuff is only lightly touched on but I'm tagging it all anyway just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24595834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerame/pseuds/cerame
Summary: The notorious criminal crew called the Chain houses nine known members, but everything starts from something else. Here is how to Chain came to be, begun by a family of three and the shenanigans of the criminal underground.
Series: Heist AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777966
Comments: 32
Kudos: 105





	1. The Leader, Time

When he was eight years old, Link found himself on the streets of Kakariko City.

The Deku Tree was the leader of the Kokiri, a squadron of beggar children that had been around since the founding of the city. Poverty was timeless, and where it existed, so would the Kokiri. The Deku Tree was an older man, somewhere in his 50s or 60s, who protected the Kokiri and their assigned teenage caretakers. He was a simple, quiet man with a fittingly simple and quiet name: Deku. In the eyes of the Kokiri, however, Deku was strong, sturdy, wise, and reliable, so they referred to him as a tree, like an ancient oak that would forever support them and provide shelter.

One day, the Deku Tree fell sick. From among the Kokiri, a boy set out with his newly-assigned teenage caretaker to steal medicine for the Deku Tree. He came back victorious, bottle in hand, but he was too late. The Deku Tree, on his deathbed, beckoned Link to come closer.

“I’m sorry, Link. This is no sickness,” he said, voice low and raspy. “This is poison, by the man from the deserts. He is after an old, ancient power, the remnants of a time long past. I was simply in the way.” He pressed something small and cold into Link’s hands. “Take this, and keep it safe.”

It wasn’t until the Deku Tree had breathed his last that Link looked at what had been given to him. A small, green emerald, encased in curling gold. Looking at it felt like a breath of fresh air, like a forest in the misty morning, like the crackle of a campfire and the laughter of children. He put the odd gem in his pocket, and with Navi, he left the Kokiri.

* * *

Link was hungry. He had nothing, so he did what any street urchin would do--he stole. In all honesty, he despised taking what others had earned, but he had no choice.

Navi was gone at the moment, probably begging for spare change somewhere in the hopes that she could buy some food for them. Now would be the best time to execute his plan. He summoned his courage and approached his target.

It was late morning when Link snuck into the hotel lobby. For a moment, he marveled at his surroundings. The black marble under his feet was smooth and polished, and white marble traced curling lines across the floor. The water from the gold-painted fountain in the center of the room crashed gently into the pool below, and a chandelier of gold and glass hung from the ceiling. It was magnificent, and Link felt wrong just standing there.

He shook his head. _Focus_. He had a job to do.

It was late morning, which meant the lobby had regular traffic and people were too busy going about their business to notice a dirty street urchin in their way. Link used this to his advantage and maneuvered along the edges of the room. He waited behind a potted plant for a distraction.

Then, the elevator opened, releasing a little girl, an older man, and a woman with a small dog. The woman stormed directly toward the desk, her shrill voice complaining loudly about something wrong with the jacuzzi in her suite. The person at the desk, alarmed, stood up.

Perfect timing.

Link darted from his hiding spot and ducked behind the desk. His eyes darted around, and--there! The faded green of money. It was an entire stack of bills, and the sheer amount of money in that little bit of cloth-paper was mind-boggling. Link slipped a couple bills from the stack, shoved them into his pockets, and ran back to his hiding spot.

“THIEF!”

Or not.

Throwing his plan out the window, Link ran as quick as his tiny legs could carry him. Shouts of alarm rang out, and he felt the shifts in the air from swipes to grab him by the back of his shirt. He pushed the door open and darted into the nearest alley, not stopping until he was sure there were no more footsteps behind him.

Link collapsed against the nearest wall, chest heaving in an attempt to catch his breath. He strained his ears for any hint whatsoever of pursuers and was met with silence. Slowly, Link slid to the ground in relief and took the cash from his pockets. He still couldn’t believe it. He had nabbed three entire one hundred rupee bills. This could feed him and Navi for months, maybe a year if they stretched it.

They wouldn’t have to steal for a while.

The thought brought a smile to Link’s face. No thievery for as long as they could manage. What a thought.

That evening, he met back up with Navi at the abandoned house just by the city limits. He showed her the money with a bright smile, but his grin faltered at the concern and worry on her face. She demanded to know where he got it, so he told her the truth. Why wouldn’t he? Navi was conflicted, and Link couldn’t help but feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know it wasn’t right, but… we’re so hungry, Navi.”

Her face pinched, and she sighed lightly.

“It’s ok,” she said. “Just don’t do it again, you hear me?”

He nodded.

Link didn’t know that the girl from the hotel--the one who exited the elevator when he stole the money--would run into him again a week later on a street corner, just outside a park. They recognized each other, and much to Link’s surprise, she didn’t act hostilely toward him. Instead, she approached him and began to talk, claiming that the man with evil eyes was planning on taking her father’s company from him and that she needed help to make sure it didn’t happen. She introduced herself as Zelda, and she asked him to learn skills from the three oldest gangs in the city to prove himself worthy of taking on Ganondorf.

“There are three gems he’s looking for, too,” she had added. “I heard him talking about it to himself. There was an emerald, a ruby, and a sapphire. I don’t know why they’re important, but if you can, get them before he can.”

In his youth, he hadn’t seen how ridiculous of an obstacle it was, so he readily agreed. He liked helping. He told Navi, and she reluctantly went with him. He already knew how to be stealthy from his time with the Kokiri, and he already had the emerald. Some part of him sighed in relief that he didn’t have to go back, but another part was sad, grieving the friendship and the home he had left behind. 

He made his way into the heart of the city and, after sneaking in and dismantling a base belonging to the gang known as The Dodongos, he was admitted to the tops of the Eldin Skyscrapers. The boss of the Goron Gang, Darunia, taught him how to fight. Hand-to-hand, mixed martial arts, street fighting, the whole deal. Due to their difference in stature, Link learned to use his size and speed to his advantage. When he beat Darunia in a fight, he laughed and gave him a ruby encased in spikes of gold, a companion of the emerald.

The ruby felt warm to the touch, and holding it, Link could almost smell ash and molten rock and metal. It thrummed in his hands, and when he put it in his pocket with the emerald, it somehow felt like welcoming an old friend.

“You’re a Goron brother now,” Darunia said with a hearty grin. “You’re welcome back anytime, little one. Now take care of that ruby. It’s a symbol of our gang!”

Then, he pointed Link toward the beaches. Link nodded, thanked him, and left, Navi at his side.

“Hey, listen, are you sure you want to do this?” Navi asked one day.

“I have to,” was his answer. “The Deku Tree trusted me with the emerald, and Zelda asked me to help. I can’t say no.”

“Of course you can, Link.”

“But it wouldn’t be right.”

Navi never could argue with him and his convictions, despite her attempts.

At the beaches, the daughter of the leader of the Zora Gang--named Ruto--took a liking to him and got her gang’s best to teach him how to use weapons. He trained until his hands could comfortably wield anything from a kitchen knife to a tactical sword to a pistol to a rifle. The Zora were proud, and their spars always drew in the crowds. They all wanted to see the ex-Kokiri, the little fighting prodigy, on the battlefield. One day, Ruto pressed a kiss to his cheek and pushed a cluster of three sapphires intertwined with gold into his hand. She said something about marriage that Link tuned out because he was eight, and eight year old boys thought girls were gross. All he cared about was the last of the gems.

The sapphire was cool to the touch and made his hands feel like they were submerged underwater. He could smell the sea breeze and feel the rush of fresh river water and the spray upon the rocks.

Link saved his childish gagging and wiping the kiss off his cheek for later, when he was in private. He took stock. He had all three gems, and they felt… together, in a way. He didn’t know if it was just his hopeful imaginings, but it felt almost like fate.

He breathed in, then exhaled slowly.

The Kokiri taught him stealth and speed. The Gorons taught him strength and force. The Zora taught him grace and steadiness. He just needed to find Zelda again and sneak into her father’s mansion to talk to her. From what he had heard, Ganondorf was already next in line on the board of directors. He was running on borrowed time.

“Are you ready?” Navi asked.

“I think so,” he nodded, his voice confident. In truth, though, he was unsure. He was just a kid, and he was going up against a full-grown man, one cunning enough to poison the Deku Tree, even with his decades of experience on the streets.

“I believe in you,” Navi said. “You learned everything you could from the Goron gang and the Zora gang, and you grew up with the Kokiri. Ganondorf doesn’t stand a chance against you!”

Reassurance bloomed bright and warm in his heart.

(Many years later, when he told romanticized, censored stories of his adventures in the criminal underground to his son, he would remind his son that although it sounded like Navi didn’t do much, she was there for him every step of the way. Every time he faltered, every time he was unsure of what to do next, she was there for him. She supported him and was an anchor for him in those times. She was there, and that was enough.)

Link set off across the city, intent on reaching the city limits where Zelda said her father’s mansion laid. He was excited to show her the gems, and surely mansion security couldn’t be harder to get through than other places he’d snuck into. He was pleased to know that he was right. Mansion security was easy. He and Navi were at Zelda’s window in just a few minutes, and upon seeing them, she gasped and let them in.

“So?” she asked. “What did you learn?”

“A lot,” Link said simply, trying and failing to suppress a proud smile. “I got these, too.”

He showed Zelda the gems, and she gasped, eyes sparkling.

“They’re so pretty!” she said. “No wonder Mr. Dragmire wants them!”

Link, being a street urchin whose only human contact was with this one girl and the city’s gangs, was unaware of how last names worked. He was also unaware of Ganondorf’s last name and was unsure if he himself had one.

“Who’s Mr. Dragmire?” he asked.

“That’s the man with evil eyes.”

“Oh, you mean Ganondorf?”

The children both looked at Navi expectantly.

“Yes,” she sighed. “You’re talking about the same person.”

“Ok, cool!” Zelda cheered with a smile. “Mr. Dragmire said something on the phone to his uncle, I think, about a warehouse down in the Lorule district. He said it was the third one from the docks with a symbol graffitied on it.”

“I think I can do that,” Link answered. He was halfway back out the window when Zelda spoke up again.

“Link?”

He looked at her.

“Good luck.”

He smiled and nodded, and he was off. He found the warehouse easily enough. What laid inside was the hard part.

He had the pistol, the knives, and the tactical sword given to him by the Zora, the armored gloves given to him by the Gorons, and the gems he had collected. He trusted Navi to stay out of the way and to stay safe. He told himself he was as ready as he could be.

Except, he had never been good at lying to himself.

With a thumping heart and shaky hands, he went into the warehouse and confronted Ganondorf. At some point, words had been traded for bullets. To Link’s dismay, they were well-matched, and Ganondorf wasn’t pulling punches, even for a literal child. It was only a matter of time before one of them slipped up, and slip up he did.

Pain tore through his shoulder, and he screamed, falling behind a large crate for cover. He pushed against the wound and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out. From the feel of it, the bullet hadn’t gone all the way through. That was good, but he’d have to dig it out later.

“Come out, little one,” taunted the voice of Ganondorf. Link could hear slow footsteps echoing lazily through the warehouse. He began to move. “We can end this quick and easy.”

Right. Over his dead body.

Link breathed in, then exhaled slowly as he maneuvered silently around the crate. He was slow, but hopefully, he could get away before Ganondorf saw him.

“Oh?”

Oh no, that voice was far too close. Footsteps. Link struggled to keep a hand on his wound and _move_. He couldn’t stand being so sluggish. He caught a glimpse of blue eyes up in the rafters. His shoulder felt numb and warm and on fire all at once.

“Found you.”

Link turned. There stood Ganondorf, gun pointed straight at Link, and for the first time in his life, Link was truly scared. He was just a child, and this was a full-grown man. What was Zelda thinking? What were they--No. What was _he_ thinking?

At the moment, he was thinking he would die an overconfident fool.

_Oh dear, poor thing._

_The darling boy needs our help._

_What do you say?_

He could hear the voices of three women, and upon seeing Ganondorf’s wide eyes, he realized there was a glow from within his pockets.

_Of course, dear sister._

_We can’t leave him, not when he reunited us._

_Well, boy? Ask for our help, and we shall grant it._

Link reached in his pocket with his good arm and took out the gems. Red smeared their surfaces, rubbed off through his clothes, but from underneath the blood, each of them shone a brilliant, golden light. He took one more look at Ganondorf, then made his decision.

His fingers closed around the stones, and he could _feel_ the power thrumming through the stones. The voices of the women all inhaled in anticipation.

“Help me!” he cried.

Bright, bright light shot forth from the gemstones, forcing Link to shut his eyes as light grew and grew and encompassed _everything_.

For a moment, he felt weightless. The pain in his shoulder disappeared. The fear in his heart was gone. He was nothing and everything.

Then, suddenly, he was standing outside a burning warehouse. The stones in his hands were gone, replaced by an iridescent blue ocarina. His shoulder no longer screamed in agony, instead thumping a dull ache to the rhythm of his heart. Link stared blankly for a second… two seconds… three seconds.

And then it clicked.

“Navi!” he screamed, running toward the warehouse. “Navi--”

Something inside exploded, and a wave of intense heat forced him back. The far corner of the warehouse gave in with a creak that rang crisply through the smoky, ashy air, then a crash as brick and mortar gave in. The roof screamed as it fell, and dust billowed up, forcing Link to cough and cover his mouth.

Link fell to his knees, and for the first time since leaving the Kokiri, he allowed himself to cry. He grieved and mourned for the Deku Tree, for losing his old home with the Kokiri, for his own failure and his own fear, for _Navi_.

* * *

A week later, he was the boy who defeated Ganondorf. The man himself was alive but disgraced by the Gerudo, who kicked him out and replaced him with a woman they called Nabooru. Link met with Zelda and told her what happened. She cried at the loss of Navi and apologized. She said she would make up for it any way she could. With a small, gentle smile, Link told her not to worry about it.

He had a feeling Zelda was as stubborn as he was.

A year later, he painted his face for jobs, and a man with a disturbingly permanent smile hired him for multiple heists. The man let him keep the masks he used for the heists that enhanced his dexterity, his strength, his grace, and his senses.

As Link worked these jobs, a new name came to town. There were soon rumors in the streets, heavy with fear, of the masked serial killer Majora. They had attacked members of the Goron and Zora gangs, a few civilians, and even a member of the Kokiri. Link had seen these victims after their deaths.

The aftermath was never pretty.

What he didn’t know was that Link had caught the attention of Majora. His face paint, combined with his accomplishments at such a young age, had earned him the nickname of the Fierce Deity, and, well, Majora couldn’t have that.

“A god against a god,” the murderer had giggled upon cornering Link in an abandoned pizzeria. “Let’s play a game. Good guys versus bad guys. You’re the bad guy, and when you’re the bad guy, you just run!”

Link did not run.

Three hours later, he staggered out of that building with a pounding heart and blood splattered across his body, both his own and not. A dead body laid behind him, face covered by a colorful, heart-shaped mask.

* * *

“Howdy! What’s yer name, fairy boy?”

“I… I’m Link.”

“Nice ta meet you, Link! My name’s Malon. My pa went to deliver milk in the grocer’s over there, but I’m not allowed inside. He’s probably asleep, so can you go wake him up fer me?”

“... Ok.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Seeking for beta-reading this, and to everyone to helped me develop this AU! You're all amazing, and I couldn't have done this without you guys.


	2. Malon, the Driver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second member - the wife, the goddess, the getaway driver. This is the story of Malanya and the woman who proudly holds that title, Malon Steed.

Malon Steed of Lon Lon Ranch was a happy girl with a simple but fun life. When she was twelve, she and her father took in a boy she met on the streets. He agreed to help her find her father one evening, and since then, Talon unofficially adopted him. She and the boy grew up together, and eventually, they fell in love.

Link shifted his grip on the steering wheel. Link was a grown man, an ex-criminal, and deeply, hopelessly in love. He was twenty-two now, and he and Malon had been dating for five years. A box sat heavy in his pocket, a box that held a band of gold and a stone worth so much more than the trio of gems he had collected all those years ago. It would be next week. He would ask her next week. Talon had already given him his approval. He had everything planned, and it was going to be a beautiful evening. He had booked a reservation at her favorite restaurant, and the weather was set to be clear, so they’d have the perfect view of the sunset from the balcony. Then, he’d get on one knee and ask her--

His blood ran cold as he pulled up at the ranch. The door was wide open and swinging in the wind.

Link was out of the car before he had even completely stopped. His balance wobbled at the sudden movement, but he kept moving because something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in his very core. He ran into the house only to freeze in his steps. Horror flooded through him as he took in the scene. Talon laid on the kitchen floor, face down, in a pool of his own blood. Stabbed into the table with a throwing knife was a note.

“We have the girl,” the note read. “Come alone and unarmed.”

Yesterday, Link would have told anyone that his life of crime was over. He was a new man with a new life. Today, though? Today, he picked up his knives and guns again without a hint of hesitation, and with his weapons came his names. He was the boy who defeated Ganondorf, he was the Fierce Deity, he was the conqueror of Majora, and he was Time.

No one messed with family.

* * *

Malon woke up tied to a chair with a bag over her head.

Ok. This was fine. She could work with this.

She lifted her head and tugged at the restraints. The chair she was in was just a normal, boring chair--wooden, four legs, no wheels. Rope wound around her ankles, a thick zip tie bound her wrists, and the bag was breathable and not even tied down. The rest of the room, wherever she was, sounded silent, so she lowered her neck and shook her head until the bag fell off. With a huff, she tossed her head back to get her hair out of her face.

She looked to be in an abandoned office. A desk was tipped over on its side, and apart from a few scattered papers and an empty bookcase, the room was empty. There wasn’t even a window in the wall or door. Malon grimaced. No one would see her escape, but she wouldn’t be able to figure out where she was unless she left the room.

She tugged her wrists apart, and stopped when the edges of the zip tie dug into her skin. It was a bigger one than usual, but she might still be able to… She reached up to grab at the zip tie, and felt for the extraneous plastic. It brushed her fingertips a few times before she was able to grab it, but once she did, she pulled it as far as she could.

It was now or never.

Malon grit her teeth and threw her wrists down toward her lower back. The zip tie endured, and she let out a low groan of pain at the cuts the zip tie had left in her wrists. She scowled and threw her wrists down again because if she was anything, she was stubborn. She was Malon freaking Steed, and she took shit from no one, especially not kidnappers. By the fourth attempt, she could feel warmth and wetness seeping from where the zip tie met her wrists, but it finally snapped, and her hands were free.

Barely taking a second to grimace at the damage to her wrists, she bent down to work on the ropes around her ankles. The knots were tight enough that she had to pick at each for a few minutes before they were loose enough to untie, but now she was free, and now that she was free from the chair, she was free to kick ass.

Malon grabbed the chair with one hand and slowly pushed down on the door handle with the other. The door was unlocked, at least. She cautiously pulled the door open, and beyond, she saw a room of empty cubicles. There was a door to the left and an open hallway to the right. Holding the chair like a club, she moved to the right slowly, steps quiet.

As she stepped out, she saw movement in the corner of her eye and spun around without a second thought. The wooden chair crashed into a person. They crumpled down to the floor, and Malon froze. The back of the chair in her hands had just been freed of its seat and legs, leaving pieces of spare wood scattered across the floor. Ok, maybe she had hit them a little too hard.

The person she had hit looked to be a young woman, the bottom half of her face covered with a bandanna. Malon dropped the other half of the chair and crouched down to take the gun from the woman’s hands. She touched the woman’s neck, and relief swept through her at the beat that thumped under her fingers. She didn’t want to kill anyone, after all.

Now armed with a gun, Malon stalked down the hallways, trying to keep her footsteps as light as Link’s. He was always so quiet and had a horrible tendency of sneaking up on her and Talon. After the first few punches to the face he’d received from a startled Malon, he had learned to announce his presence when he entered a room, whether it be by voice or purposefully making his steps heavier. When she asked him why he walked so quietly, he just laughed and reminded her that he grew up on the streets. Sometimes, he even joked that he was blessed by the goddesses, or he just didn’t exist. When Malon accused him of being a ghost or an alien, he didn’t stop laughing for a minute straight.

Malon smiled at the thought of him, warmth blooming in her chest. Then, a lump of cold sank down her throat and settled in the pit of her stomach. Link had been out in town when she had gotten kidnapped. What did he think of this? Had he called the police yet? Was he safe? She hoped they hadn’t gotten him, too.

“Where is she?”

Malon froze and barely caught herself before she had turned the corner. She pressed herself against the wall and held her breath. The voice was masculine and unnaturally low-pitched in an attempt to hide the speaker’s true voice.

“Screw you,” came the bitter response.

“Fine. I can find her myself.”

Malon heard two thumps and grimaced to herself. Whoever that was would be feeling that in the morning.

She braced herself as footsteps drew close to the corner. When the figure entered her field of vision, she swung the butt of the gun at their head. There was a gasp of alarm, and the figure dodged, moving backward. Malon tossed the gun aside with the momentum and swung with her fist, only for it to connect with a hand bigger than hers.

“Malon!”

Wait. She knew that voice.

“Link?!” she gasped. She gaped at him. He was  _ here _ and had blood on his cheek and clothes and  _ oh goddesses-- _ “Yer eye!”

A line of red ran down from his eyebrow, across his eye, and ending just below his cheekbone. His eye was shut, but he ignored it, his good eye searching her face.

“Did they hurt you at all?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Link, what’re you doing here?”

“I came here to save you,” he said just before his eye caught the red on the backs of her hands. “Your wrists. What happened?”

“I escaped,” she said. “You need to get yer eye looked at. You could--”

“I can handle my eye myself,” he said, taking her hand. “There’s no saving it. I know that much. The best we can do is keep it from getting infected, but there’s no time for that right now. We need to get out of here.”

He beckoned for her to follow and went back the way he had come. Malon looked for the guy he had questioned earlier and gasped. He would not, in fact, be feeling it in the morning. Most people don’t feel anything after getting a knife to the neck.

“Link, you… you killed him,” she said, something sick crawling up her throat.

“There’s… a lot I need to tell you,” Link said, voice tight. “Come on, there’s a bomb set to detonate in ten minutes.”

“You rigged a  _ bomb _ ?” Malon gasped, her voice two pitches away from a screech.

“Well, no,” Link admitted. “ _ I  _ didn’t. I’ve never worked with demolitions. If I did, we’d both be dead, probably. I just have a few old friends.”

“Old friends?” Malon questioned, narrowing her eyes.

“Another thing I’ll explain once we get back,” he said. “Just… trust me, for now? After I explain, you can judge me all you want. I just want to get us both out of here alive.”

He looked back at her, and she could see the sincerity in his eye (and how  _ weak _ she was for that shade of blue). He was truly sorry. For what, exactly, she didn’t know, but for now, it was enough. She nodded, and he turned his eye back to what was ahead of him.

After they escaped, a demolished, abandoned office building behind them, they drove home as quick as they could. She fell asleep in the car. When she woke up, her brain hadn’t caught up yet, so the glass of the passenger side door was broken and the alarm was screaming by the time she remembered what had happened and realized she was just at home. Link came over from wherever he had been to turn off the car alarm. He had cleaned up and had a bandage wrapped around his head and eye. Dirt smeared his hands and stuck under his fingernails.

“Why’s there dirt on yer hands?” she asked.

Link simply looked away and walked off. An invitation. She followed him, and they came upon a freshly-turned rectangle of dirt, one end marked with carefully stacked stones. She looked at Link, and his somber expression confirmed what she didn’t want to know.

Malon inhaled, disbelief dissipating.

She exhaled, tears springing to her eyes.

She inhaled sharply, the grief finally flooding in.

Then, she exhaled with a scream and a sob and fell to her knees. Link simply kneeled next to her and held her. His solid warmth was a comfort she leaned into as she sobbed and cried and mourned. Her lungs burned for air. Her heart constricted in her chest.

She passed out crying in his arms.

The next morning, she woke up in her bed, and when she went to the kitchen, Link handed her breakfast. Neither of them ate much, only picking at the hashbrowns and boiled eggs. Then, breaking the silence, he began to talk. He talked through the morning and afternoon about his past, and when he stammered as he spoke of Majora, Malon pulled him into a careful hug. He froze, then slowly, hesitantly, brought his hands up to hold her back.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry my past put you in danger,” he answered just as quietly. His self-blame for her father was silent but so, so loud, ringing in her ears.

“Fairy boy?” she asked, pulling back.

“What?”

“I’m in,” she said resolutely. He blinked at her, his eye colored in surprise. “Whatever you do,  _ we _ do. You’re not alone anymore. We’re a team.”

From that moment forward, she was his partner in crime. With Talon no longer around, Link took on a few less-than-legal jobs to support them, and Malon was always happy to provide backup or a getaway. She never felt more alive than she did on her bike, Link’s arms around her middle as she weaved through the traffic, away from the alarms and gunshots. The bike’s motor roared, and they both laughed freely as wind buffeted at their hair and adrenaline rushed through their veins. For her speedy, shockingly efficient getaways, they dubbed her the Goddess of Horses and companion to the Fierce Deity, Malanya.  


Personally, she found it hilarious how no one seemed to connect Malanya with her own, similar-sounding name. That name was born from Link tripping over his words during a job in an attempt to avoid giving away her real name, after all.

Once they got the ranch to a financially manageable point, Link proposed, and she happily accepted. They got married in December, and three years later, they had a son. He thrived on the ranch and grew up a cheerful child with the same mischievous streak as his father and the same strength and stubbornness as his mother. He wrestled with the goats they got not long after his birth, and he got along with the horses effortlessly. Link taught him how to shoot a gun, using cans propped up on the fence as targets. He ran their son through gun safety countless times before letting him shoot, and after his first successful shot, the boy dutifully turned the safety back on, just like Link had told him to, before celebrating with giggles and a bright smile.

They loved him. They were happy, and that was enough.


	3. Twilight, the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A child with the blood of both the Fierce Deity and Malanya in their veins was a figure the criminal underground of Kakariko City feared but never expected. Naturally, he would be a Beast.

Link Steed Jr. was born to Link and Malon Steed of Lon Lon Ranch. He had always been a strong kid, growing up. When the goats broke out of their pens, he’d be the first to wrestle them into submission, hands around their horns. By age eight, he could shoot pretty reliably with his dad’s shotgun, and by age twelve, he had well and truly befriended the filly of his parents’ favorite horse. However, there was always one thing he had wanted to learn from his dad.

“Pa! Pa!” he had said when he was six. “Can ya teach me how to fight?”

“You’re too young to fight, kiddo,” his father had said with a grin, rubbing his head and messing up his hair.

“Hey, Pa,” he had said when he was ten. “Can ya teach me how to fight?”

“Why?” his father asked. “Are you getting bullied at school?” Link Jr. shook his head, and his dad never pushed further.

“Pa,” he said when he was fourteen. “Can ya  _ please _ teach me how to fight?”

“When you’re older,” his father said. Then, he paused, thought for a moment, and added, “You’ve been asking me all these years. I’ll teach you on your sixteenth birthday. How about that?”

Link Jr. happily agreed.

When he was fifteen, he was pulled aside while walking home and passed out under the heavily scented, damp cloth held against his face.

He woke up in a cage, manacles clamped around his wrists and chained to the floor. Blood rushed through his ears, and his head pounded with his heartbeat. This small room was dark, and bars covered the window of the door in a grid. He was only in his jeans, the cool air biting at his exposed torso.

“Hello?” he called. “Is anyone there?”

Only silence answered him. Link sat in the back corner of his cage and curled up, wrapping his arms around his knees. He sniffed, and heat and pressure crawled up his throat and rested behind his eyes. He didn’t know what was happening, and there was no way mom or dad knew where he was. He sniffled again and wondered how they were. Have they figured out he was gone yet? How worried were they?

It felt like ages before the door opened. A man with a mask walked in, and upon seeing Link, he chuckled.

“Well, well,” he said. “The new meat is awake.”

Link didn’t answer.

“Well, let’s get you into the ring.”

Mere minutes laters, he was pushed into a circular area surrounded by chain link fence. He already sported a bruise on his cheek from fighting back against the people who threw him in here. Much to Link’s horror, people--dozens of them--gathered outside the fence. Each and every one of them watched him with eager grins, loud voices, and gleaming eyes.

Then, the gate on the other side of the ring opened, and a young man was shoved inside. He was also stripped down to his pants. He couldn’t be more than a couple years older than Link. Greasy black hair hung over terrified dark eyes that darted about the room. He was pretty skinny for a boy their age, arms lanky and the dips of his sternum and upper ribs jutting out against pale skin.

“New meat versus new meat!” a woman announced cheerfully. The crowd roared in response, tension running through the air like electricity. “Now, boys, there are no rules except for staying in the fenced area and, of course, fight to the death!”

Wait.

What?

“Only one of you can leave here alive~,” the woman giggled in a singsong voice, even as cold, icy horror rolled over Link, spreading from the pit of his gut to his fingertips and up his throat. “Let’s play!”

The crowd grew quiet in anticipation, and the tension shot to almost unbearable heights. Link swallowed thickly, cold dread running down his spine. The other kid shifted, and Link braced himself.

The kid charged at him, a feral cry tearing from his throat.

* * *

“I’m scared, Link.”

“... Me, too. I’m going to call an old friend.”

“You mean…?”

* * *

Link didn’t move until the door closed, but once it did, he descended upon the food with a ravenous vengeance. He tore into the meat, and his stomach quieted its demands. Once he finished licking the oils from his fingers, he took the spork he’d been provided with to scratch another line into the wall.

As the jagged plastic dragged against the concrete for the eighty-seventh day, Link thought, and he remembered.

So far, the Twili crew had taken a great liking to him, which meant better food and medical care, but it also meant harder fights. Thus far, he had taken down every opponent. Of course he had. He’d be dead if he hadn’t. That was how the ring worked. He had recently taken down another one of their favored fighters, Morpheel. It had been difficult, to say the least, but…

Link shuddered. He could still hear the crunching of bone and cartilage so clearly. He could still feel the warmth of blood splattering across his chest and forearms. He could see what he had reduced Morpheel’s face to, and he could still remember the rush in his veins, the headiness of winning, the glee of  _ death _ \--

He shook those thoughts from his head.

He breathed in. He was alive.

He breathed out. He was a captive of the Twili.

In. He had survived until now and could continue this streak.

Out. He was okay.

He was okay.

The next morning, he was tied down to a medical examination table as needles jabbed into his face over and over and over again, injecting black ink into his skin.

“You should be proud, doggy,” the man with the needles said with a smirk that made Link sick to his stomach. “Only the best fighters here get these tattoos. These are the marks of a warrior.”

The man resumed his job, and Link bit back his screams.

* * *

“Time.”

“Lullaby.”

“...”

“Do you have anything?”

“...”

“Lullaby?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry.”

* * *

Diababa, Bloat, Darkhammer, Stallord, Armogohma--they had all fallen to his hands.

The boy no longer responded to his name. He didn’t need to when the Twili called him the Beast with Blue Eyes. He didn’t have a name anymore. He was not a human. He was a dog--no, a wolf. He was a feral animal unleashed upon his captor’s chosen targets.

~~And if he sometimes indulged in his weaknesses and cried in the dead of night when nobody was around to hear him, no one had to know~~.

He had lost track of the days a while ago.

He knew that the Twili were treating him a little more…  _ differently _ than they would treat other fighters in his position. He didn’t know why, but he knew it had something to do with the whispers he’d hear from them when they thought he was unconscious. The boy who defeated the old Gerudo leader, the conqueror of Majora, the Fierce Deity, Time… and they referred to him as the blood and legacy of this figure that he had never heard of.

It was ridiculous. His parents were odd people and knew how to fight, yes, but them? As criminals? Ludicrous. His father’s stories of his own childhood were all fantasy, anyway, nothing but romanticized dramatizations of mundane events… right?

“Hey, wolfie.”

The boy looked up silently, the iron around his neck and wrists heavy. His hands still felt warm with blood though they had been washed hours ago. Through the dark, he saw a girl, a young woman maybe, with bright red hair tied back in a high ponytail and vitiligo splashed across her skin. She was clad almost entirely in black, including an oversized black coat and an odd, stone grey mask that wrapped around her head but showed her mouth and one hazel eye.

“Come with me,” she said, voice low. “I’ll free you, but in return, you have to serve me like the good little doggy you are.”

“What do I get out of it?” he muttered, voice raspy from lack of use. He almost surprised himself with the twang of his accent. He hadn’t heard that comforting drawl for so long. Oh, how he missed his mother.

“I’m taking down the Twili crew. You’ll be free to go home or whatever you want to do after Zant goes down,” she said, and the deal was done.

He crawled forward in his cage, and she reached through the bars to pick the locks of his shackles. Once his wrists were free, she picked the lock to the door of the cage, and as soon as the door swung open, he lunged at her. All fragments of trust he might have once had were well and truly shattered by his time under the Twili--

She narrowly dodged and grabbed the chain still attached to the manacle around his neck. Her foot came down on his back, forcing him to crash into the concrete floor. Her heel dug into the dip by his shoulder blade, right where a recent opponent in the ring had slipped past his defenses and dealt him a harsh wound, and the quietest whimper of pain crawled out of his throat. Her grip on the chain was tight, forcing him to lift his head off the ground lest his windpipe get crushed.

“Don’t try that again,” she said. “Got it?”

“Y-Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.

She dropped the chain, and he dropped his head to the cool concrete, gasping for air. The girl went to the door and peeked through the barred window before looking back down at him.

“The coast is clear,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“W-wai--” he cut himself off before he could finish. Prisoners didn’t give their captors orders, especially not while under the Twili. Instead, he chose to ask a question. “What’s yer name?”

She gave him a sharp grin as she quietly opened the door.

“Call me Midna.”

* * *

“Sorry, Brother. We couldn’t find anything.”

“I’m afraid my people were unable to find anything, either.”

“I… It’s… It’s ok.”

“Have you tried the Kokiri?”

“No. They won’t recognize me, not after all these years.”

“Well… if you’re sure.”

* * *

“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” Midna asked, holding out a pistol.

“Of course,” the Beast with Blue Eyes said, the slightest of smirks on his face. “My pa taught me when I was younger.”

After breaking him out, Midna had thrown a button-down at him that was just a bit too small, so she had taken him out shopping. The trip ended with him getting a haircut, new shoes, two new shirts (both flannel, much to Midna’s dismay), a new pair of jeans, and Midna’s favorite addition--a faux leather jacket with a furred collar. At first, he had protested against the jacket, but it was growing on him.

During the shopping trip, he wondered if he could escape and go home but thought better of it. Nothing would be over if he left now. He’d only be hunted down by the Twili again if he left Midna to her devices. He had been one of their most prized fighters, after all. Besides, he had already agreed to help her. He was a man of his word. It did help that she didn’t force him into fights to the death. He was setting the bar low for her, but to be fair, if he set it any higher, she would fail.

They hunkered down in an old warehouse. Midna had gotten him to set up a shooting range, and now, the Beast was looking over the gun. He flicked the safety on and checked the bullet cartridge. Satisfied, he pulled back the safety trigger, arimed, and shot three times, putting three new holes in the empty crate they were using as a target. The holes formed a small triangle across the wooden planks, and the Beast allowed himself to smirk in pride.

His father had taught him well.

“Huh,” Midna said simply, her eyebrows raised. “I guess you  _ can _ use a gun.”

“A little,” he shrugged.

The fur of the collar brushed his jaw softly with the movement of his shoulders. He kind of liked it. It was different from the iron collar the Twili had clamped around his neck. Where the iron had been cold and hard and threatened to choke him should anyone yank on the chain, the fur was soft and warm and gave his throat plenty of room to breathe.

“How about a knife?” she asked.

“Never learned  _ that _ ,” he admitted.

Midna giggled, slipping a pair of sheathed knives from her sleeves. This time, her laugh was genuine. It sounded like the tinkling of chimes.

He decided he liked her laugh. It was easy on the ears.

“Then I guess I’ll have to teach you, wolfie,” she said with a grin, tossing him one of the knives.

He caught it and carefully unsheathed it. The blade’s smooth surface reflected the light, and the sharp edges threatened to cut him should his fingers creep up from the handle. He stopped his appraisal in its tracks. He was no weapons expert, but he knew that shiny and sharp didn’t necessarily mean a quality blade. Appearance wasn’t everything. Besides, he trusted that Midna knew her weapons.

“You need proper posture first,” Midna told him, raising an eyebrow judgmentally. “In a real fight, you’ll probably be disregarding it, but you need to know what you’re  _ supposed _ to be doing so you don’t stab yourself by accident. Foundations and stuff, you know?”

“Ok,” the Beast said. “Then show me how to fight.”

* * *

“...”

“...”

“Ok.”

“Are ya…?”

“Yes.”

“...Ok. I’ll help ya.”

* * *

The Blue-Eyed Beast had been training with Midna for a month and a half, and over the course of it all, he liked to think that they had bonded. He rather liked her, and she seemed fond of him in return. One evening, under a blood red sky, she admitted to him that the Twili were once led by her, but her cousin Zant usurped her and instated fighting rings. She told him that she had chosen him as a servant and underling not only because he was the best fighter the Twili had but also because he was the child of the conqueror of Majora, if Twili rumors were to be believed. Apparently, they discovered this shortly before Midna had broken him out.

“Who  _ is _ this conqueror of Majora?” he had asked. “My parents always seemed like normal folks ta me. Weird, but normal.”

“You don’t--?” Midna started before bursting into incredulous laughter. “My goddesses! The Twili say that you’re the son of Time, the boy prodigy of the criminal underground. He disgraced the leader of the Gerudo and killed the masked serial killer Majora as a child, then disappeared a few years later. There hasn’t been news of him since… apart from you, of course.”

The Beast wasn’t sure what to think of that or if he  could should even believe it. It sounded like the stories his dad told him… but it couldn’t be true, right? None of that actually happened. It couldn’t have… or maybe it did.

Then came the heist, the coup, the takedown--whatever Midna decided to call it on any particular day. Whatever it was called, it was tonight. The Beast’s nerves were dry kindling over an open fire, ready to spark and burst into flame at a moment’s notice. He exhaled slowly, leaning against the wall. Just past the door was Zant, the leader of the Twili, the one who had usurped Midna.

“Nervous, wolfie?” Midna whispered, sidling up next to him.

“Yeah,” he answered honestly. “You?”

“A bit,” she shrugged. Admitting her faults was a sign of trust that he didn’t take lightly. He appreciated it. “Ready?”

“When you are.”

After that, within the span of an hour, Midna had taken back her gang and released the prisoners Zant had collected. Zant himself was presumed dead, as they had knocked him out and thrown him unceremoniously into the ocean from the nearby dock. Now, the Beast had gotten his wounds cleaned and bandaged, and he sipped at a cup of tea--a novelty for him, considering the past few months. He wondered if it was supposed to make him feel this relaxed. Midna said it was lavender tea, so it was fine, and he believed her. She lounged against the counter behind her, and they were talking about everything except the Twili, so he asked.

“What about them?” he asked. “The Twili? What’re yer plans?”

“To be honest,” she said, “I was planning on disbanding them.”

He choked on his tea. Coughing, he spit out, “What?”

“Zant ruined our reputation too much,” she sighed. “People will see me as weak, and I don’t want to be usurped again. I liked not having to worry about my own allies killing me in my sleep this past month and a half. Besides, the Twili have changed since I was here. They’re… different. More violent. More merciless.”

Her gaze carried mourning for the people she once knew, who had died without being truly gone. The Beast knew what that felt like, but…

“Then how will I find you again?” he asked. His eyelids felt heavy. That wasn’t normal…

“You won’t,” Midna said simply.

His world shifted, and he grabbed the edge of the table to try and steady himself. What…The tea. It was the  _ tea _ .

“What?” he rasped. “Midna, w-what didja--what didja do?”

Her smile was apologetic, as far as he could guess.

“I’m sorry, wolfie,” she said softly. “I can’t risk you trying to stop me.”

He fell from his chair. His ears were filling with cotton, and his mouth was drying. What he could see past the encroaching darkness grew blurry. His limbs felt numb.

“See you later,” she said, sounding as if she were yards away and underwater.

Then, everything went dark.

* * *

Someone knocked on the door. Link and Malon looked at each other. It was six in the afternoon, so they weren’t expecting any guests. Carefully, Link took a knife from the kitchen and hid that hand behind the door as he opened it—

Oh.

Oh, Hylia.

Link stared in shock, his thoughts tripping over each other in their rush to be heard. He stared because there, right in front of him, stood a boy with bags under his fierce, blue eyes, a fur-collared jacket on his shoulders, and dark tattoos etched across his face. He stared because here was  _ his son _ .

The knife clattered to the floor as Link let out a sob and wrapped his arms around the boy. At some point, Malon came over to see what was happening, and when she saw their son, a watery gasp slipped past her lips before she joined them. It was warm, being entangled in each other’s arms, and Link’s heart began to seal up. The cracks and holes and crevices didn’t heal, because nothing would ever heal the scars from the fear and anxiety of that ordeal, but the wounds etched into his heart were being filled once more, and it was warm.

Link didn’t let go until the wet marks on his shirt stopped growing.

“Link--my baby boy” Malon said, voice shaky. “We thought—we couldn’t find ya. We tried so hard to find ya, but—“

“We thought the worst,” Link finished quietly.

“I know,” their son said softly. “I saw the grave.”

When Lullaby, Darunia, and Ruto couldn’t find any information on their son’s whereabouts, Link and Malon had given in. It was too naive and foolish for people like them to hope that he was still alive somewhere out there. They had put a photo of the three of them and a few of his favorite things into a box and buried it out in the yard, right next to the grave Link had dug for Talon all those years ago. They stacked rocks to mark the grave.

“Y’all were right, though,” their son said. Link could see the pain hidden behind the dead look in his son’s eyes. He could see it because he had seen it in the mirror many years ago. “Link Steed Junior is dead.”

“Then… who’re you?” Malon asked, warm and loving as ever.

The Beast could have cried from the open, accepting, freely given love from his parents, but he saved the tears for later. He had to answer them, after all.

“...Twilight. I’m Twilight.”

* * *

“Do you want me to teach you how to fight?”

“No. I already know how.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank the discord server for whenever we made this AU. This has been a fun project, but we still have seven more boys to go through (and maybe a few extras), so stay tuned in to the Heist AU series. Don't forget to leaves kudos and a comment, and thank you all so much for reading <3


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